Sneaky Russian
by girl in the glen
Summary: Something's going on and Napoleon thinks he can figure it out. Written for the Lifecycle Challenge/Humor, at Section VII on Live Journal. Comments are always welcome.


Napoleon Solo was walking briskly through the corridors of the U.N.C.L.E., his goal to get to his office before anyone could stop him and ask about his day. For some reason he woke up in a foul mood, not his usual by any stretch. As he walked past the Map Room he heard some giggling and then …

"What the …" Without thinking that he might be interrupting someone doing what he himself had done in that room on several occasions, Solo pulled open the door with a vehemence that mirrored his already agitated mood.

"Okay, what's going on in here?" Perhaps he did want to interrupt someone after all. Flipping on the light, his reaction to what was revealed left him speechless.

Backed into a corner and in a state of, well… breathless will suffice, April Dancer had her arms wrapped around someone who was at first glance unrecognizable; her hands covered the back of the man's head and a free-standing book shelf was sheltering his body from view.

"Oh, uh… Sorry April." Napoleon backed out of the room, curiosity as to who the man was replacing the mood that had brought him to work this morning.

The CEA of UNCLE Northwest was now going through a list of probable paramours for his only female agent. She was less than a year on the job and, although a reprimand was probably in order, Napoleon felt doing so would be hypocritical. He had enjoyed several liaisons in the Map Room himself, and a smile creased his face at the memories.

"Okay then, no reprimands but a little sleuthing might be in order." He spoke to himself but a voice answered him.

"A little sleuthing? What is it you are after now, Napoleon." The baritone was unmistakable and he turned to see his partner smiling at the self-directed conversation.

"Oh, nothing really. Well, I caught Miss Dancer in the Map Room in a, shall we say, compromising situation. I won't take it any farther but I am curious about the man. I wasn't aware that she had any relationships here at headquarters."

Illya smiled at that.

"Nor am I. Curious situation then. Well, I wish you luck. In the meantime we do have that meeting with Mr. Waverly at … now, actually. Shall we?" He extended his arm in a manner suggesting that his partner go first, following behind with an expression reminiscent of the proverbial cat who dined on a canary.

The meeting lasting several hours, the seriousness of the situation at hand such that several teams were being assembled to head into a trouble zone engineered by yet another villainous group bent on ruling the world. When Solo and Kuryakin finally emerged from the inner sanctum of Waverly's office, they were each hungry and tired, ready to set their attention on something other than catastrophic events. Although they would eventually be sent into action, the initial teams of agents were scouting out the situation; others would be called in as the need arose.

"So, how about dinner, on me?" Napoleon was feeling better now, hours after his glum mood had started the day. Work and the people who populated headquarters had served to lighten things, and his encounter with April Dancer returned as a way to divert his attention from the meeting.

Illya was watching intently while appearing nonchalant. He knew that his partner wouldn't let the Map Room incident pass without solving the mystery.

"Dinner sounds good, and I accept your offer to pay. I think you owe me still from the last date you asked me to fund." Napoleon made a face at that. The Russian never forgot anything. Ever.

"Fine, but I choose this time."

"Let me guess… Italian."

"Smart aleck. You can never go wrong with Luigi's, and besides we sort of owe him our patronage after blowing up his kitchen." Illya remembered only too well. In fact, that was one of the first times that he let himself indulge his attraction to April.

"Very well, Italian it is. Shall we walk? It is an exceptionally nice evening if the weather report is to be believed." Napoleon nodded his agreement. The grey wall of headquarters needed to be countered with some fresh air and sounds of the city.

It was a two block walk from Headquarters to the agents' favorite Italian restaurant. The incident Napoleon had referred to was not one of their finer moments, but not entirely their fault. Still, Luigi had been forced to shut down his restaurant for a few months while repairs were made, and Illya had ended up on a mission with April that had sent them both into the deeper wells of emotion; neither of them were ready. And yet, there was the Map Room.

Once arriving at the charming little restaurant, the two agents were greeted like family and ushered to their usual table; it faced the entrance and offered little access from others save the wait staff. Luigi didn't ask too many questions, and the fact that he had been sent a generous check from an organization that claimed to be part of a neighborhood improvement group, led him to simply agree to whatever requests were made of him.

Napoleon sat first while Illya went to the bar to request a particular recipe for sangria, something he had shared with the bartender and that was reserved for his frequent visits here. Watching the blond standing at the end of the bar reminded the American of something, of someone…

"Well, well… I think the mystery is solved."

When Illya returned with the pitcher of Sangria he found Napoleon sitting with his hands on the table, a look of utter contentment on his face.

"I see the restaurant has worked its magic on you. Here…' Illya set down two glasses and filled them with the rosy beverage, allowing some fruit to slip through along with the liquid.

"This will make it complete. Salud." They clinked the glasses and drank, savoring the flavors and the chill as it slid down their throats. The restaurant was full, conversations wafting through the fragrant air, and altogether happy ambiance.

"So, I was thinking about that little encounter with April, and I think I know who the man was." He watched Illya for a reaction. True to form, there was none.

"Really? Someone I know?" Sneaky Russian. He would never admit to being there.

"I think so, or at least you might. I believe he's also a Section II, blond and slightly built. Sort of resembles you. I've seen them together before, I guess she finally gave in to his overtures."

Illya nodded appreciatively. This was going to either ruin his meal or make his day.

"And do you have a name? I cannot think of anyone off the top of my head, unless it is that fellow visiting from New Zealand."

That threw things off a little.

"What fellow? I wasn't aware of anyone from New Zealand being here in New York."

"Really? I thought…well, you might have missed him this morning since you were late. Our meeting with Translations was at eight o'clock, I just assumed you didn't need to be there."

Now Napoleon was second-guessing himself. New Zealand?

"No, I. uh, I knew you'd handle it. New Zealand you say… and he sort of resembles you?''

"Yes, in fact someone stopped him in the hall and mistook him for me. I believe he's still there, staying in one of the guest accommodations. I should be happy to introduce you."

Napoleon paused while his meal was set down, each plate held the same steaming entree. Stuffed shells and meatballs, luscious and cheesy… the aroma distracted him only momentarily. Illya lit into his meal, savoring the first bite like a man who hadn't eaten in days.

"This is delicious, you chose well Napoleon."

"Oh, thank you. Um, back to the fellow from New Zealand…" Napoleon now suspected that his wily partner was making it up. It had to have been Illya in the Map Room with April. Didn't it?

"What's this agent's name?" Illya took another bite of the shells, savoring the rich ricotta filling, seasoned as it was with garlic and parmesan, a hint of basil…

"Ian Morris, and he's a very nice chap. Welsh, I think, but he moved to New Zealand with his family when he was very young."

As if on cue, in walked April and Ian. Illya saw them and motioned for them to come and join him and Napoleon.

"There they are. I suppose he does resemble me a little."

Napoleon was deflated. He was certain it had been his partner with April, but this Morris fellow really did bear a remarkable resemblance to Illya. Oh well, might as well enjoy the meal and the company of these agents. His mood was elevated by the prospect of this type of camaraderie and friendship, the earlier disgruntled attitude very far away.

As April and Ian sat down, Napoleon missed the look that passed between the redhead and the Russian. Their secret was safe, and the joke was on Napoleon.


End file.
